


impertinence

by raffinit



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Knotting, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raffinit/pseuds/raffinit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on primarybufferpanel's prompt:</p><p>"Alpha!Max is brought to the Citadel as the first Alpha in forever, and Furiosa goes into heat. Joe is furious - so that’s why he couldn’t get her pregnant - and locks her in a room with Max, gloating that the feral will tear her to pieces as he walks out. Furiosa & Max both pressed against opposite walls, sweating, trying to keep hands off each other, reluctantly talking. In their restraint slowly gaining enough appreciation to give each other (dignified, consensual) relief?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/gifts), [fadagaski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/gifts).



> I would like to blame @primarybufferpanel and @fadagaski for this madness, and thank my love for aiding and abetting my madness and being willing to join me for the ride

His arrival to the Citadel comes with shouts and hoots of  _ fresh meat _ , and  _ road warrior _ , and  _ feral _ . She doesn’t concern herself with the new scavengers the War Boys bring in; she tries to keep herself as distant as possible from the men and women they ravage. Her curious crew had begged off with permission to inspect the new intake, and Furiosa had shrugged, returned her attentions to the War Rig.

She is days away from it.

She’s in the middle of stowing away the last of her weapons in the cab when she hears the sound of Ace by her door. “Boss.” She slips the bone-handled knife into place and turns to him. 

He looks around uncomfortably, and Furiosa narrows her eyes, slides her hand slowly for the closest gun she has. “What’s up, Ace?” she asks calmly; the crew have come back, and she sees them milling through into the hangar muttering to themselves quietly. 

She arches a brow. 

“It’s that Feral they got in,” Ace tells her, and even through his goggles, Furiosa can see his confusion. “The Immortan wants you to take inventory of ‘im. The Organic says he’s... _ special _ .”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t need  _ special _ on my crew. He can -”

“Furiosa.” She freezes, and her flesh arm tightens over the wheel of the Rig as Ace leans in to whisper. “He’s an Alpha. Full-blooded, raging Feral and he’s already got the Omega boys about ready to suck ‘is cock.” He pulls back, shaking his head as he glances off to where two of the War Boys have already begun to work their hands into their pants. 

“There are no Alphas but the Immortan,” she recites mechanically; no one at the Citadel is allowed to be, outside of Joe himself and his sons. She knows that most of the War Boys are Omegas, and the Imperators Betas or Omegas, and even Rictus had been born a disappointing Beta.

She wonders if the War Boys and Imperators know the truth. The truth behind why his sons and daughters spawn weak or dead. Why no true Alpha would ever fail to seed.

When she had been a girl, Furiosa had entertained private, quickly squashed thoughts of growing up to be a female Alpha. There had been one Wife, once - Joe had taken such pleasure in capturing her and breaking her before he threw her, and even the strength of an Alpha wasn’t enough to survive that fall without ending up twisted-up metal bent under heat. Furiosa had been so disappointed, felt so betrayed, when her first Heat had come.    

“Right,” Ace says, a sneer curling his lip, nodding at her. “He’s hungry. Get over there before he’s got them pinned.”

It had taken years. Years of fighting, killing, clawing her way to the top to convince them and Joe that she was anything but an Omega. Smothering her Heats with the smell of grease and blood, and convincing the Immortan when she had worn the white of his Wives, that she was better off a War Boy than a Wife. Months of lying there while he fucked her and keeping her face flat, expressionless - in part because she could feel no real pleasure and in part a struggle because of the way her body threatened to expose her, the way he’d have laughed and spanked her until she bruised and bled, and told her she liked it, he knew she would eventually. It had taken so long to convince him otherwise - Furiosa thinks that because he gets off so heavily on the screams and squeals of a woman taken in heat, her lack thereof had bored him. She’s only lucky, then, that shearing her long hair and shaking herself free of his shackles had been seen less as a rebellion by him and more as an enjoyable new amusement. “Like a third son to me,” he’d cackled, and she had ignored the disgust bubbling in the back of her mouth.

She swallows, the muscles of her jaw working tight and slow as she pushes the Rig door open. Ace eases off the Rig with her, and she moves casually through the garage and down through the hallway of whispering Boys and whimpering ones with hands caught inside their pants. “The Immortan should’ve had him killed by now.”

“They want his blood,” Ace tells her. “Hi-Octane stuff, and he’s a Universal on top of that - by the V8 -”

There’s a crowd of War Boys pinning the Feral down; some panting and keening and struggling to press themselves as close as they can, and some snarling and spitting and laughing at the way he beats the most desperate Omegas flat onto their backs. 

“Hold him down! Keep his bloody head still, will you?!” The Organic watches from a distance, amused and leering as the War Boys pin the feral long enough for him to shove a muzzle onto his face. The Feral snarls, lunges at him, but the Organic staggers back, laughing uproariously. 

“Feistiest Alpha I’ve seen in awhile,” he hoots, and then his eyes slide across the crowd to Furiosa. His eyes gleam at her, and his lips curl back over yellow, ugly teeth. “Well, well. Lookie there.”

She tries - holy chrome she tries so fucking hard - to keep herself from breathing in, from scenting the rush of blood and sweat and dirt and oil on skin. She locks her spine down, her metal arm clenching tight, but she cannot hide the way her pupils blow wide at the scent of the Feral, or the way her cheeks flush and her body begins to sweat. The smell of him is wild, a hot crunch of grass and leaves under boot, the smell of wild fire and water - she Wants. 

“Boss? Boss -”

“Imperator,” the Organic coos. “Looks like someone’s been lyin’ to good ol’ Joe.” 

It’s not hard to tell when an Omega is in heat. There’s a haziness to the pupils when the strong Alpha pheromones mesh with their intoxicating softness, a new fluid ache in the way that they move. For the Omega it is a thousand times more intense. Furiosa’s heartbeat quickens at the same time a sense of pressure ebbs and flows between her legs - her slit hot and wet and making a mess between her thighs, sudden and brought on by the heady scent of the Feral man. Her fingertips shake where she stands and something primal and intense clouds her brain, makes her flash from thought to thought at alarming speed. Visions of herself splayed open and naked on the floor, grabbing her legs and holding them open for him, of herself kneeling before him and presenting herself for a breeding, of being thrown rough and vicious over something hard and unyielding as she’s split by a knot, yowling and screaming - she lands on all of them like a restless dragonfly, flitting from one to the other even as she licks her lips and her rapid breathing turns to a slow, desperate kind of pant. It is Want of the purest degree. Perhaps Furiosa is not an Alpha, but she lusts with the strength of one, a fire stoked deep within her, between her hips.

The harsh laugh from the Organic breaks through the waves of lust, and Furiosa blinks hard. “Look at ‘im, boys! He’s got her scent right down to his balls.”

Her eyes flit through the mass of painted white bodies, to the muzzled face where the Feral’s eyes are blazing and dark on her. His teeth are bared, but his eyes are wide, and in them she sees the same lust and want and need that she feels pulsing in her cunt. He licks his lips, and - by the gods, they are lips she wants to kiss and bite and feel pressed to her skin, wants to feel his gleaming teeth on her skin to Mark and his hands on her skin tearing at her clothes. 

Ace snatches her flesh arm roughly. She starts, and feels her metal hand curling into a fist, but she stops at the low, hungry growl that comes from the Feral.

“Take them both to the Immortan. See what he wants to do with his little pet and the feral.”

\-----

She’s shoved down onto her knees in front of the Immortan, surrounded by his most loyal Imperators. Rictus and Corpus are by his side as they always are, and together with their father she feels their sneering scowls and probing eyes. The Immortan himself sits fuming, the clear crisp of his blue eyes blazing at her over the teeth of his mask. She knows his anger, his rages; the temper that had once broken her jaw. 

“So,” he booms, hollow and muffled beneath his mask. “An Omega bitch after all.”

The Feral is shoved down beside her, chains rattling violently as he thrashes and snarls, but the proximity of him nearly paralyzes her. The heat of his body, the scent of him; she reels on her knees, rocking against her will to feel the pressure of her thighs against her cunt. She stares hard at Immortan’s feet, jaw set at the swaying of his codpiece, and Joe surges forward suddenly, strikes her with brutal force across the face. 

The Feral snarls at him, roars in his throat as he lunges forward with enough strength to drag the War Boys with him. “Mine!” he hisses, with enough vitriol to startle the Immortan back. 

Furiosa tastes the blood pooling in her mouth, but she feels the throbbing spread lower into her hips at the sound of the Feral’s voice. Harsh and grating, like metal on stone, and she wants to hear him purr it into her ear.

Joe must scent him.

The Immortan’s bloodshot eyes are narrowed, and beneath the clear armor and the papery, flaking skin, Furiosa can sense his rage. The Immortan lunges at the Feral this time, the chains keeping the kneeling man in place as Joe kicks at him. The only reason they land damage is because of Joe’s boots and because of the spiked anklets round them, and the Feral makes a yelp not unlike a wounded wolf. Something about the bonds around the Feral’s body ensares Furiosa even more, even as her voice carries out “Immortan!” and the seething powdered face of the man swivels to face her, prowls upon her. 

“I knew what a filthy little slut you were from the moment I saw you,” he hisses, “I knew how badly you craved cock in your cunt, I knew you were just like the others.” His lip must curl as he spits beneath the breathing mask. 

She curls her lips at him in turn, spits blood that spatters onto the grinning teeth of his mask, and Joe roars. 

“Send them to the cages!” he shouts, wiping the blood from his mask. It settles in a smear of red across his teeth and cheeks, and Furiosa dreams idly of a day when she will tear his face off. “Put the Feral down into the benches with this impudent little  _ bitch _ .”

His eyes narrow over his mask again, and Furiosa feels a coldness settle in her bones. “Perhaps it is about time you were Bred like the filthy little Omega bitch you are.”


	2. ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know what this chapter is about
> 
> special thanks for my lovely wife for helping with this particularly stubborn piece. my love for you knows no bounds <3

They have cages for blood bags and ferals they cannot break. Cages and benches meant for tying down unwilling or unruly Omegas to fuck and breed and bleed, and when she sees the hanging metal cages and the blood bags inside, she remembers the women draped in white, the women she’d been taken from. 

“Immortan,” she blurts, boots scuffing and skidding as she fights the shoving hands of the Imperators on her. “I can still serve.”

He laughs derisively at her, white hair flowing behind him as he strides easily in after them, watching with leering watery eyes. “You have nothing more to offer me,  _ bitch _ -”

“Imperators,” she gasps, swallowing her breath and tasting the Feral on her tongue. She’s nearly swooning with the rush of blood going from her head to her cunt, but she has to think, to fight - she is  _ days  _ away. “I can give you Imperators for your son.”

The way he shifts on his feet, Furiosa knows that she’s captured his attention. She tugs her arm from another Imperator’s grip and stumbles forward, forces herself to kneel again before Joe, her hands clasped together in reverence. “Your son will be born soon,” she says, through clenched teeth. The sweat beading on her skin drips, and she suppresses a shudder at the way it slides along the curve of her spine. “He’ll need Imperators and loyal War Boys to protect and serve him. I -”

“Any spawn that you produce will be unworthy of my son,” he snarls, and Furiosa cringes. 

Fuck.

“You will not buy your way into my good graces again.” He kicks her away from him, and glances at the Feral when the muzzled man growls again. “But perhaps it will be....sufficient to watch the beast tear you to pieces.” He grips her chin in his hand, nearly crushes it to the bone as he forces her up, seething with bitter, rancid breath. “Perhaps I  _ should  _ keep you; strap you down to the benches and let my War Boys use you to their pleasure. Yes, then you can serve me there.”

She feels a rush of nausea kick in her stomach. He wouldn’t be beneath that - to make an example of her with an endless Heat, forced upon her until she pups for him.

“I am the only Alpha living,” Joe booms, and his loyal War Boys croon and shout their praises to He Who Grabs The Sun. “I am your salvation; your guide unto Valhalla - no Feral wastelander can misguide those truly worthy of salvation.”

An uproar of chants rise in the space, deafening calls of  _ Immortan! Immortan! V8 V8 V8! _

“Impostor!” one War Boy spits at the Feral. “Smeg!”

Furiosa bares her teeth at them, trembling, sweating,  _ aching  _ from the skin of her teeth down into the tips of her toes - each breath is  _ him _ , each swallow of her throat is  _ him _ , she feels the Want, the Heat burning, spreading, gripping her, and she knows from the way that the Feral rocks on his feet, palms the bulge of his pants that her own scent must be maddening. 

“Today you will witness my fury and my generosity.” Joe curls his hand around her metal arm and Furiosa can’t help the yelp of pain as he yanks and tugs and rips at the metal. It cuts into her skin with steel and leather, red welts and brands on her skin as he tears her arm from her and tosses the mangled arm at the horde of War Boys.

She clings to her half-arm, fingers digging into the stinging flesh, but even with the tears filling her eyes she glares at the Immortan, fury to the brim. She’s never been weakened by the absence of her arm, but alone with a Feral, the both of them nearly mad with Heat - 

They’re shoved into a narrow cage; barely big enough for her to stand upright, nowhere to escape the overwhelming scent of this Alpha who thrashes against the walls, heaving and panting. She makes a running lunge at the War Boys, but in the mess of wrestling limbs and swearing, the Imperators kick her back. She careens backwards, scraping herself raw as she groans, watches as they unchain the Feral and shove him by the muzzle into the cage. 

The door clatters shut amidst the laughing, the length of chain wrapped around and padlocked almost tauntingly. 

She sinks her nails into the ground, forces herself back onto her feet.

The Feral is panting, harsh and hot and deafening in the cramped space, and she knows that his eyes are dark and hungry on her. She paces, her whole body lithe and long, and covered in a sheen of sweat already. Her shoulders are squared and her muscles are tensed and she aches, with the desire to pounce. She wants to feel his body thrumming and weakened beneath her. Furiosa wants to take his Alpha primacy from him, she wants him to be laid bare and submitted to her. She wants back what she was never given. He will be  _ hers _ even if she has to claim him by clenching around him and addicting him. 

He moves as well, pacing restlessly by the door, shaking and rattling it with angry fists, snarling when he realizes that the chains will not give. His shoulders are hunched, broad and muscular as they are; she realizes that he’s doing everything that he can to keep from looking at her. She catches the darting, wary looks he gives her before she swallows the moan in her throat when she hears him speak.

“Do you,” he croaks. “Want.”

She almost wants to laugh. “I don’t have a choice,” she grits, and already her hand is worming into her pants. She hisses when her fingers slip against the wetness of her cunt - chrome, she’s so fucking  _ wet _ \- and feels her clit thrumming against her fingertips. “You can smell me just as much as I can smell you.”

He grumbles in his throat, and she sees him lick his lips. “I can - help.” His clenching fists move between them, his head jerking at where her hand is sliding inside her pants still. His eyes are dark, hungry, and yet his face tight with pain. “W-want.”

She bristles, and he stumbles forward against his will. His arm twisting around her wrist; Furiosa snarls and struggles, kicking against his shin as the Feral lunges at her, his other arm pinning her to him. “Can smell you,” he growls, his lips biting on the place where her neck meets her shoulder, “want -,” he growls, his hand spanning over her stomach, over her hips, and she feels the hardness of his cock against her ass.

His hand manacles her wrist, and Furiosa bashes her head into his nose; blood spurts violently and he grunts, but still his hand tightens over her hand and yanks it from her pants. She growls at him and shoves at his chest, but the Feral crushes her to him again, and then his mouth is on her fingers.

She gasps despite herself; his mouth is warm and wet around her fingers, she can feel the purr in his throat through them as he sucks the taste of her onto his tongue. His pupils are blown wide, black and needy, and she pulls her fingers away, sees his lips plush and slick and she imagines his tongue on her. 

“Yes or no.” His hand squeezes at her wrist, her heart pounding in her chest as she breathes in the smell of him - fuck, she wants his cock inside her, but she doesn’t; she knows the pain that comes with a breeding. She can’t imagine what a knot will feel like. 

It frightens her to think that she wants to find out. 

Furiosa splays her legs slightly. She tilts her head back, groans softly with the want that courses through her. She dreams standing there, of her body split, her pussy spread open on his thick cock. 

“Yes,” she groans, her voice throaty and rough. “Yes. Yes.” She snarls a little bit, grinds her hips back against his hard length, and on her lips is a begging groan for his cock in her cunt with his come inside of her, pulsing within her. 

The effect is instantaneous. The Feral flips her, slams her to the ground and begins to tear at her clothing, at the thin wrappings that keep her contained. She claws at him with a matching vigor, the need trembling in the tips of her fingers as she rips his shirt from his body and reveals sweat-slick skin. She sinks her teeth into his shoulder, revels in the stuttered growl it elicits as her tongue licks across his pulse, the rut of his hips against her. 

He has ripped her clothing from her, leaving her heaving and naked beneath him. As he struggles with his pants she is there to rip them away, and she immediately fumbles for his cock, tightens her hand around it as he growls and guides him to her entrance, slick and red and wanting.

The hot head of his cock is pressing to her hole when his body freezes, and Furiosa whines her complaint. He moves back, and she nearly shoves him down to ride him, but he stills her, a hand cupping her breast. “Wait,” he rumbles, and she lets her chest heave desperately; feels her nipple pebbling beneath his callused fingers as they rub and tease across her skin. 

“Legs,” he grunts. “Spread them.”

She obeys mindlessly, her cunt throbbing with an almost pained need as she spreads herself open for him, gripping his forearms as his eyes drag down her body like a physical caress. He purrs in his chest, deep and hungry, and she sees him lick his lips at the sight of her pussy. 

“Please,” she whispers. “Fuck, if you don’t -”

His mouth presses to her folds with a strength that nearly aches, but Furiosa can only scream as he nuzzles his lips against her and feels his tongue spearing her open. He laps and sucks and circles with the thirst of a wastelander, drinking her up, swallowing her down as if she were aqua cola itself. His nose bumps against her clit and he reaches to pin her bucking hips, to spread her open with his fingers and let himself delve deeper into the well of her cunt. 

He growls against her, and it vibrates through her like a V8. Her fingers curl into his hair, skirting over a ridiculous tuft that occupies the back of his head and holds him against her as she writhes against his mouth. Each lick of his tongue is met with an uncontrolled twitch of her hips, and eventually Furiosa feels her thighs clamp down on his head as the burst of her orgasm lights under her eyelids. 

He licks her down into another one, and eventually she kicks him away, hard. Her pussy twitches almost painfully, overstimulated, flushed red and swollen. She can feel her clit jolting still, the puddle of wetness dripping from her, and when she blinks the haze away enough, she looks up to see him licking her off his fingers like a thirsting Wretched. 

She turns onto her knees, struggling upright, but immediately she realizes her mistake.

His weight is on her in an instant, heavy and stifling, but even with her brain screaming for her to  _ fight,  _ and  _ flight,  _ her body arches against him and her mind is shrouded with the pure need to fuck. The metal of something catches against her knee - a brace? something - as he straddles over her, skin sliding against hers as sweat drips between them. His teeth is suddenly on her neck, breath hot and bursting against Immortan’s brand, and she bares her teeth, growling in her throat. 

His cock pulses between her legs, twitching as his hips thrust and rut - searching for her dripping hole. She grinds back and feels his knot beginning to swell, and a spike of fear roots into her spine when he finally manages to slot himself an inch inside her. 

She collapses onto her elbows, a scream caught in her throat as he presses inside her. Her walls clench and spasm wildly; it burns too much, it’s too fast and too big and too hard, but her body wills it deeper, her hips pushing back even as she whines through her teeth and presses her forehead into the crook of her elbow. A low, soothing purr rumbles from his chest, and she feels his hand slip under her, anchoring her to him, easing her slowly back onto his cock, and his lips brush gently over her ear. 

“Spread your legs,” he grunts. “Hurts less.”

She eases her legs apart further, as much as she can when he is braced over her, but it’s enough to ease the tight pinch of his cock inside her, and Furiosa pants as he ruts hard against her. With each thrust, she feels his breath ragged and sharp against her neck, the wet, filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, the way her walls clench and spread for him as his knot swells and swells and his thrusts grow heavier and shorter. 

It shoves at her hole, and Furiosa clenches hard; he growls above her and she hisses at him in return. Her mind is reeling with it - she doesn’t want this, she  _ can’t  _ want this, not like this, not with the knowledge that Joe would probably keep her bred, just to make her watch him kill each of her children, if he doesn’t kill her first. 

He wouldn’t keep pups of an Alpha, she thinks dazedly, even as her legs are splaying wider and wider as the Feral pumps his hips against her. The first spread of his knot catches against her walls, and she yelps, loud and shameful like a wounded pup. 

His teeth are back onto her neck now, gentle almost as he hushes her,  _ shhhh,  _ as his hips snap and thrust against her ass. It’s brutal and desperate, but she knows he has to knot her before it swells to its full size; before he’s big enough to tear her open. A snarl bubbles inside his chest, rough and trembling as she feels the instinct overwhelm her, the smell of Heat and sweat and sex that fogs inside her mind when he gives a final, brutal thrust of his hips against her. 

The knot slides into her, a bulge that is prominent enough to catch hard on her entrance and give a pop when it slips in. Furiosa growls, tilts back her head and lets out a howl of pleasure and pain and overwhelming sensation, a growl deep in her throat again at the feeling of the knot swelling up inside of her, preparing to breed her. 

Her only warning is a long, strangled groan from him as he spills inside her, hot and wet and filling her enough to drip from where his knot bulges. It pulses against her, jet after jet coursing inside her spasming walls, and Furiosa whines, collapses down onto her half-arm as she reaches between her legs to her clit. 

“No.” He grunts, a perturbed sound as he shoves her hand away, and Furiosa moans as she feels his rough, callused fingers take its place. He rubs in circles, hard and unrelenting as she arches back into him, panting as he coaxes her into a dizzying orgasm, the muscles in her legs jumping as she rides the waves and the feeling of his knot pressed maddeningly into the grooves of her g-spot. 

A smug, grumbling purr erupts from him as he swivels his hips against her, draws her into a lazy, tremoring orgasm again until she pulls away desperately, gnashing her teeth at him in blind instinct. “Enough,  _ enough _ .”

“Your name,” she pants, “ tell me your name.”

He struggles to answer her, the words dead on his tongue. 

“Your name, fool.” She squeezes around him hard, and he grunts at her reproachfully.

“M-max,” he chokes. “My name is Max.”

She nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there might be an epilogue
> 
> op


	3. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Immortan Joe is temperamental and we kind of just have angst because WHY NOT HAVE ANGST

\----

He ties with her for the better half of an hour; thick and uncomfortably pressed against the tender grooves of her walls. She tries to ignore it; to pretend like the heavy, irritatingly warm puff of breath behind her doesn't come from a Feral she has only known for about as long as he has been inside her.

She tries to kick him loose; to wriggle and wrestle and tug herself free of him, but even with his awkward fumbling hands pushing and pulling at her hips, they are bound by their bodies. 

"Won't come loose 'til," he clears his throat apologetically; the pulse of his knot is almost endless. 

It must have been as long for him as it was for her.

The chatter of eager War Boys sets them on edge again; Max curls over her body, snarling and hissing at the gathering crowd as they’re leered at through the bars. Furiosa growls them away as best she can, even with her Imperator status crushed into the sand, her reputation keeps a handful of them at bay. When the Immortan comes, he’s shadowed by the Organic.

The snarl that bursts from Max’s throat startles even her. 

Joe chuckles behind his mask, wheezing on each breath as he leans on the gates of the cage and regards them with the indulgent gaze of a master watching his cattle. “Still in one piece, I see,” he says. “A pity.”

They come loose by hands prying at their limbs; greedy eyes and leering grins as they fight and shout and scream. Her skin pulls and burns and aches, his knot only just releasing its grip on her walls as a wriggling hand worms its way between them and tugs hard where the bulge of his knot presses against her. They jerk together, a scream shared in one throat as he is forcibly pulled from her, the release of pressure burning at her overstretched cunt. 

She sags on the ground, a puddle of come pooling between her legs. The Organic’s apprentice prods at her gingerly, and Furiosa lashes out, kicks him hard in the stomach before a crowd of War Boys wrestle her down. She hisses and spits, but the Organic wanders into the cage idly, a speculum twirled between his fingers. Her eyes widen slightly, and she writhes harder. 

“Get off me!” she shouts, tugging her foot backwards, using the momentum to kick out hard, and one War Boy goes tumbling, unconscious and bleeding as she thrashes and claws and kicks.

The Organic clucks his tongue at her. “Hold ‘er steady, boys, or this might end up somewhere a little further south.” He leers at Furiosa, and she seethes at him viciously. “Cheer up, girly - ol’ Joe’s had a change of heart. Seems to find more use in his favorite little pet after all.”

Furiosa screams when the speculum forces its way inside her, she can’t help but; she’s sore and stretched, and the merciless way the Organic wrenches her apart only makes her wonder if she isn’t torn inside already. 

Max is snarling beside her, nearly frothing at the mouth as he pins the Organic and Joe with a murderous glare. “Don’t touch her,” he growls, and Joe bellows a laugh. 

“Already so possessive of his breeding bitch,” he says fondly; the same way one might speak of a prized creature. “I’ve reconsidered your offer, Imperator,” he announces, pacing the confines of the cage idly, a hand reaching out to stroke the metal. “You’ll thank my Splendid for that - she seems to think that whatever corruption that spawns from your womb would be a strong Imperator for our son. However rotten its core would be.” His eyes narrow over the mask in a vicious smile. 

The Organic yanks the speculum from her, and Furiosa bites down hard on her lip, tastes the copper and swallows down the salt of her tears. Max is struggling still, a quiet, desperate sound almost too quiet to hear coming from his throat. 

“You’ll definitely get a pup out of her, guarantee it,” the Organic says, smearing together his fingers and observing the sticky strands he’d pulled from her cunt. “Knot that size - probably a litter inside her already.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Joe says. “Yes, this will do.” He reaches down, powdered fingers stroking over Furiosa’s cheek, and she forces herself to resist the urge to bite his fingers off. “You will serve well, won’t you, Furiosa? Perhaps you were not worthy of carrying my children, but your children can prove themselves worthy yet.”

Furiosa wants to vomit on the packed dirt of the cage floor. When she pulls her legs together there is a sting and she gives a soft whine of discomfort. She feels utterly stripped of all dignity. The curse of being born as she was, the curse laid between her legs betraying her and weakening her and now - now - god, pups. War Pups for Joe to play with like children’s toys.

She glances at Max, for whatever reason she cannot say, but she sees in his face a terrible mask of emotions - rage, fear, lust still, confusion and uncertainty, all of these. All the things reeling inside her own mind, and more; he didn’t ask for this, and neither did she. She had been meant to drive the War Rig, to bring the Wives back to the Many Mothers. 

To return to the Green Place. 

Instead now, she is a breeder. 

Fucked and knotted and bred. Her children condemned to a life like hers. 

“On your return from Gas Town and the Bullet Farm, we will discuss your position as Imperator,” Joe is saying, and Furiosa stares at him. “I can’t have my War Boys think that insolence is to be rewarded, but I know that your loyalty to me has been tested, and proven, hasn’t it?” He peers down at her over his mask. “My strongest Imperator is worthy of a strong mate, is she not? A Feral who can promise me strong, full-life Imperators to watch over my son.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, fluttering wildly as she stares at the Immortan and she forces herself to bow before him, trembling with disbelief, with a hysterical laugh as she forces herself to grovel at his feet again. “Thank you, Immortan. You are the greatest, the wisest, the most forgiving.”

The most vile, the most Wretched, the most undeserving of clean air.

He nods approvingly, and reaches down to pet Furiosa’s hair. “A savior must allow for mistakes,” he tells her, but the hardness in his eyes as he grips her face makes her brace for a slap across the face. Instead he shoves her back from him. “But double-cross me again, and I will rip those pups from your womb and beat you with them.”

She stares hard at his feet and nods, grinding her teeth hard to keep herself from grinning. Max catches her eye bewilderedly and she shakes her head. 

She is days away.

\-----

She doesn’t see Max again until the day before her supply run. Takes him from the OM who leers at her and tells her to bring him back in one piece. She doesn’t stop Max from pressing his muzzled face into her neck and breathing her in, but halfway down the hall she shoves him into the hangar of the War Rig. 

“My sons will not be Imperators,” she tells him through clenched teeth. “My daughters will not be Wives.”

She doesn’t tell him why she takes him with her; doesn’t need to at this point. They’re not mated, she’s not marked, but she needs him. She'll take everything she can from Joe. She curses the old man with every breath she takes, and curses her body and her mind and the unfortunate conception of the pups already growing inside her. Something in the back of her mind tells her that she can trust this feral wastelander. She trusted him enough to breed her. 

Though she hadn’t had much of a choice to begin with. 

Still, he’s proven himself reliable.

But he nods, wordless, before his eyes venture down to her stomach hesitantly. “You know.” 

Furiosa lets her mouth curve. Heats last a week, longer with the more potent Alphas, but hers had come and gone within two days. “All I can give them is a fighting chance,” she murmurs. 

Will she survive this? She’s not sure. At this point death on the road would be a sweet mercy she’s not sure she deserves. 

(The run is vicious and a violent cacophony of sound and silence and blood, but by the end of it all, there is a Green Place and Many Mothers.

Dag’s baby comes, and hers do not. 

And so it goes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd imagine Joe as someone who switches hot and cold as and when he pleases. It's kind of why the People Eater and Kalashnikov are so willing to do as he wants because his wrath is pretty damn scary. I justify his moodswings as man-opause okay


	4. ALTERNATE ENDING 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i keep telling myself i'm done and then i'm not
> 
> several what-ifs and alternate ways it would've ended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if this counts as magical realism, but read the bottom notes because clearly i gave up on plot continuity to get to the babies
> 
> FLUFF AND ANGST AND YAY

The trade run comes and goes. 

She hears Immortan’s speech through the echoes of it off the cave walls and feels a devastating wave of anger and madness and grief. She screamed and raged and battered herself against the doors of the cage until her fist had come away bloodied and mangled and the Feral had touched her in alarm. 

She breaks his nose and nearly strangles him, and amidst the tears burning in her eyes, Furiosa can’t bring herself to be sorry.

“I was supposed to save us,” she tells him, in the dead of night; they’re drenched in sweat and stinking of sex, coming down from another burst of hormones and violent rutting. He’s buried to the knot inside her, hands braced on her hips as she grinds down into him - she’d been surprised when he had obliged her shoving hand and aggressive straddling, but now as she leans against him, choking on mouthfuls of his scent, she is grateful. “I was supposed to take us back to the Green Place.”

He hums beneath her, hands flexing against her hip. “Could still get out,” he mumbles, slurring with sleep and exhaustion. “Won’t be long, before….”

She swallows the bile in her throat. They’ll be released soon; as soon as her Heat ends and the Organic confirms for Immortan that his most unruly Imperator was pupped and defiled. 

Once, she had wanted to be a mother, once she had thought that she was someone worthy of it. 

They take Max away in intermittent bursts; when the half-life War Boys are in need of blood bags. At first, she had insisted he sleep somewhere else - anywhere else, not with her. His scent was keeping her thrumming with Heat, but that was exactly what the Immortan had wanted. 

Max is….quiet. Broody. He said nothing much except when they were alone, and those moments were far and few in between. They are bred, put together like prized cattle, to fuck under the watchful eyes of the Organic, and at the end they are always torn apart. 

She is raw inside, aching and bruised but somehow wanting. 

One their last day, the Immortan comes. They’re only just catching their breaths, panting and wheezing and she is spread achingly on her knees while Max holds her upright against him, rocking inside her. 

“Look at you,” he says. His eyes gleam with a greasy, leering smugness as he reaches out and touches her, uncaring at the way she struggles against the War Boys who crowd into their space. His hand spans across her stomach, fingers digging into her skin before trailing down over her hips and between her legs. She kicks and whines, teeth grit into a snarl that dies into a pained sound when his fingers jab at her pussy, forces her open wider around the knot. “Look at that pretty little Omega pussy spread open for me.”

“He’s got her all filled up,” the OM pronounces, a speculum brandished from somewhere on his person. “Got your prime Imperators incubating inside her already.”

“Excellent,” Joe purrs, pulling his fingers from inside her roughly. He examines the sticky wetness between his fingers, swiping them across Furiosa’s cheeks like war paint. 

“Have her put inside the Vault with my Wives. He stays in the Skin Shop for bleeding.”

“Not a chance,” the OM says daringly. “He had my boys ready to fuck themselves raw over him before. They get a whiff of him again -”

Joe growls irritably at him, but waves them aside impatiently. “Cut him, then. Bring me his fat little balls to make into a rattle for my new son.” He laughs at the horror on Max’s face, and claps the OM on the shoulder. “Do what you will to him. He has no use to me now.”

They’re left in the darkness again, with nothing but the echoing laughter and their pounding hearts rushing in their ears. But instead of curling into each other in the frigid night, Furiosa yanks her mangled top back on, binding herself into it tightly. Max watches curiously as she struggles into what’s left of her pants, shrugging sheepishly when she scowls at the state of it. “What’re you -”

“There’ll be a War Boy down with our food,” she says, jerking her chin at the door. “As always. He’s an Omega; I can smell him already.” Before this, it was always the OM, come to feed and water them and gloat at the way Furiosa ached and dripped. 

They think her Heat is gone.

They’re careless.

Max grunts his agreement. “Young.”

“Lure him,” she says, and Max blinks. Furiosa sighs, rolls her eyes at him as she shoves his shirt into his chest. “You’re an Alpha. You stink of sex. He’ll probably fall over for you as soon as he smells you.” Max looks away, shrugging his shirt on and staggering to his feet. 

He nods his head, and Furiosa slinks into the furthest, darkest corner from the door. It takes a moment - a breath and then suddenly he is the Feral, the raging Alpha drunk on hormones and the smell of an Omega in heat. He slams himself back against the wall facing the door, and Furiosa tries her damndest not to whimper in her throat when she sees his hand slide into the flap of his pants. 

The War Boy appears and doesn’t quite know what to do. 

“Smell you, boy,” Max growls, a purr deep in his throat as he slides his hand over his cock, lets the gaping War Boy stand and stare, mesmerized and petrified both. “Smell your ripe little cunt.” He groans, and Furiosa licks her lips from the shadows when the head of his cock begins to leak. “Smell like a bitch in heat.”

The War Boy stumbles into the cage, eyes blown wide and choking on the scent of a true-blooded Alpha, and Furiosa strikes.

By some miracle, they survive.

Breathless and bleeding with the winds screaming in their ears. She doesn’t remember how they managed to get past the War Boys, how they left a pile of dead War Boys who had been working on Max’s car - how they got the car down. She doesn’t remember. 

She only remembers the sight of the Citadel fading in the rearview mirror, and feeling like she didn’t deserve to leave.

\-------------------

_ (etc etc we’ll reconcile the many many days that pass later) _

_ \------------------ _

She never had to stay with him. They could’ve gone their separate ways - she to the Green Place, and he to wander where he pleased. Somehow though, neither of them felt the urge to pull away. 

They try for the Green Place and she is too heavy to shoot by then. The pups grow even with the limit of food and water, and Furiosa cannot help the frustration bubbling to the surface. Her grief is nearly inconsolable when they journey West, and there is nothing but blackness and crows instead of Green. 

Max, to his credit, stays even though he aches to leave. This is her place now, her home; her family of women and Many Mothers who will know better how to care for her and their pups. Valkyrie will be a good initiate mother - she too, isan Alpha, and one that Furiosa has history with. He tries to keep his jealousy at bay, he has no right to be jealous, does not possess her as a mate or a partner. They had come together in a whirlwind of chaos, and they were bonded by the children inside her belly. 

He felt…obliged to stay. 

“You need to talk your girl out of this madness,” one of the Vuvalini hisses at him, and Max blinks rapidly. He grunts, head cocking in confusion, and the older woman gestures impatiently at where Furiosa is standing draped in a blanket, staring in the direction they’d come from. 

“She wants to go back,” the Vuvalini says. “Once she’s pupped.”

He frowns. 

“She says she owes it to them,” Valkyrie says, from behind them. The woman’s blue eyes span over Max’s face and go to the silhouette of Furiosa, warm and soft and sad almost. “The Wives, she said. She left them behind. She wanted to take them with her.”

“She won’t listen to sense.”

“It’s suicide!”

“They’ll tear her to shreds.”

Max jerks away from them, mouth curling as he moves off to where Furiosa stands by the Interceptor, her flesh hand pressed to her stomach. He stops a pace behind her, clears his throat quietly and waits until she glances at him over her shoulder. 

“I’m going back.” There’s no discussion there. She’s never asked his permission for anything before this; he hadn’t expected her to ask for it this time. “They were holding out for me. I was their hope.”

He stands for a moment, waits for more, but Furiosa gives him nothing else, and so he offers what little he can. “Hope is a mistake, y’know,” he mumbles, and though she looks at him with reproach, he can’t feel guilty for the truth. “If you can’t fix what’s broken…you’ll go insane.”

She looks away, and in the darkness and flickering light of their campfire, he sees the shadows of her face, the lines worn into her cheeks despite her swollen belly. 

“We can…try,” he says eventually, rough and stunted in his throat. “Maybe…after the pups. When you’re better.”

Furiosa doesn’t smile, but her eyes soften, and that is enough. 

\----

Her waters come two days into their journey across the Plains of Silence. It comes in a wave of pain that has her reaching across the gearbox and sinking her nails into his arm, and Max had lurched the Interceptor into a screeching halt. There’s banging on the side of the car and a Vuvalini pops her head in. “Oi, mad man, what gives?”

Furiosa grits her teeth and groans in her chest, and Max is already tumbling out of the car, fumbling for the passenger door and helping her out of the car. “Pups,” he grunts, and the Vuvalini seem to move as one. 

“Get the blankets out, lay them down. Mardhi, get the water running - we’ll need all we’ve got if there’s more than one!”

“Get her up on her knees, then, let her dig ‘em down into the sand where it’s softest, it’ll help with the pushing.”

Furiosa growls into the skin of Max’s neck, muscles coiled tight as she squeezes his hand in a stifling grip. “Shut them up,” she growls, and Max obliges her by easing her down onto the blankets and helping her out of her pants. She does not know or remember any particular birthing rituals, but her instinct dictates how she will deliver herself of her children, and nothing else. So she lays onto her side and rubs a hand over her stomach and sighs loud and heavy, squinting her eyes against the pain. 

Max is at her side, allowing her to squeeze his hand tight. She looks at him - they’ve always been better at talking when words aren’t involved. The Vuvalini have told her that men aren’t present during births. That it’s better that way.

She wants him there. Needs.

Max nods.

Valkyrie offers her shoulder a gentle squeeze, leaning down once to touch their foreheads together before she’s down between Furiosa’s legs with Keep. “You should get her up on her knees,” Val says, eyes on Max as she nudges Furiosa’s thigh. 

Together they heave upright, Furiosa panting in deep, greedy breaths as Max fumbles to let her lean heavily on him. “‘s okay,” he murmurs, forehead tilted gently into hers, and she squeezes her eyes shut, bears down with the pain riveting through her spine. His hands score from her back, her sides, her hips, rubbing and holding where he can, even as his heart begins to beat near bursting. 

“Ease off, Furi, ease off,” Keep says. A glance downwards gives Max a view of her weathered hands soaked in blood already. “Pup’s crowning - you push now and it’ll tear you open.”

“Feel like it already,” she mumbles, and Max squeezes her shoulders again as they wait, counting breaths and beats and finally she pushes again and he feels her nails cut into the back of his neck as she screams. 

She swallows a gasp of air, slumped against him now as Mardhi crows from her vantage point behind them. “Full head of hair - good sign, good sign.”

He holds her up as she sags onto his shoulder, rumbles something in his throat; wordless, warm, full of things he doesn’t quite know how to say. Instead he purrs at her, croons in his own way as he rubs his sweating hands down her back and kneads the tightened muscles there. In his head he hears the ghosts coming, whispers sharp as whips and words bitter like the guzzoline he siphons from wrecks. 

Furiosa makes a low, grinding scream, and then it’s as if she melts into his arms, panting fast and hard, and suddenly between her legs there is a wet, noisy squall. 

“Bless me,” Mardhi says, and she sounds as if she’s choked on tears. “That’s the first living baby boy I’ve seen in years.”

Furiosa wrenches herself from Max’s grip, leaning back as she reaches for the wriggling pup, squealing and sobbing still, and she cups him to her with her half-arm. It’s red and slippery and not entirely the most attractive thing in the world, but to Max, he is devastatingly beautiful. 

Her flesh hand strokes across the baby’s back as he quiets, whimpering in the cold until Val offers a bundle of warm furs. Furiosa tries to swaddle him, but her hands shake and she’s already puffing and grunting through the next contractions. 

“Here. Let - here.” Max reaches for the baby, hands no steadier than Furiosa’s, but he cradles his son in his elbow with a thoughtless ease. Dabs and wipes at his fingers and toes and counts them to be sure. 

Ten of each, and a luxurious head of hair.

“Hi,” he croons, blinking back tears that come unbidden as the baby snuffles and frowns at him. “H-’llo.”

Another Vuvalini appears at his side, Nyla. “Here now,” she soothes, arms open and offering. “Let me see the little feller. You’ve got more coming now.”

Furiosa makes a sustained groan of effort, and reluctantly Max slips the baby into Nyla’s arms before he’s down on his knees by Furiosa again. She’s on all fours now, rocking, heaving, roaring into the sand as Keep and Valkyrie murmur to her urgently.

“Steady girl,” Keep says. “This pup’s a stubborn one.”

Valkyrie makes something like a watery laugh. “Coming from Furiosa - what’d you expect?” and then she’s holding a pink, wriggling little thing with a scrunched-up face and remarkable lung control. 

She makes another giddy laugh, the babe held to her warm and soft. “A girl,” she tells them, and Max flinches at the whispering voice in the back of his brain. “Listen to her rage.”

“She’s got her mother’s fury,” Mardhi laughs, and Max feels an uncomfortable coil of heat in his stomach.

The baby is passed to Furiosa, as was its brother before, and Furiosa touches her daughter’s face, nuzzles her forehead to the babe’s before reluctantly handing the baby to Max.

“Wowee, girl,” Nyla hoots, the male babe dozing in her arms. “You don’t get mixed litters much anymore. Be the first one I’ve seen in nearly five thousand days.”

Furiosa is silent throughout, strangely distant from the words of the women as she labors and strains and loses color to her face nearly with every breath she takes. Max hovers by her, touching her in brief strokes, nothing lingering or else she snarls and jerks away from him. “Furi.”

Her eyes flicker to him, dazed and bright, and then she bows into the sand, her hand fisted into the blankets as she bears down with the strength he can see through the muscles in her back and shoulders. 

The Vuvalini give a shout, and then it becomes all too quiet. 

The baby in Valkyrie’s arms is pale and silent, and Max sways on his knees as if the nearest whisper of air will knock him dead. Furiosa is heaving beside him, collapsed onto her side and in the wide gleam of his eyes he sees the pulsing vein tight in her jaw as she grits her teeth and stares hard into the Keeper of the Seeds’ face. 

“It is breathing?” she asks, her voice steady and clear. He can see the water in her eyes, the fear and grief waiting. 

Keep takes the baby from Valkyrie and presses her ear to its fragile chest. “Weak, but it’s got a beat,” she says. “Hang on -” she turns the baby onto its stomach, patting at its back with enough force to have Max bristle protectively. He knows these traditions; he remembers when figures masked in white and green would hold infant by their feet first and frightened them into their first breath with a hand to their bottoms. 

The Keeper of the Seeds beats at their child’s back in gentle, firm pats until suddenly it lurches to life, coughing for all it’s worth. A thick, gelatinous plug of mucous splatters onto the sand, and then the desert is alive with noise. 

“Praise to the Mothers,” Keeper laughs, and in her aged blue eyes Max sees the trickle of tears. “Ah, you got us worryin’ on you, little fella. Don’t come into the word scaring your aunties like that!” 

The baby howls and wails, and finally all three are draped onto Furiosa’s chest, nuzzling and suckling hungrily. The girl seems more content with simply lying against her mother’s skin, and Max feels his ears burn red amidst the emotions thick in his throat when the Vuvalini tease him about his sons’ appetite. 

He kneels by Furiosa, jacket ready to drape over her bare shoulders, and he leans down, presses his forehead to hers for a long moment, breathing in the scent of her, the scent of their children and mother’s milk and the salt of her blood and sweat and tears. “Thank you,” he murmurs, thick and halted in his throat. “For - mm.”

Furiosa nods once, pale and weary as she delivers the afterbirth with a disgruntled heave, and then she gives him a sad little smile. “Do you have names?”

Max touches the heads of their children tentatively, cupping their small skulls in the palm of his hand as if holding them any more would damage them. “Mm, well. You said before. If we had a girl….”

“Mary,” Furiosa breathes, peering down into the face of her only daughter. “After my mother.” She kisses the baby’s head, smelling still of blood and womb and earth. The baby gives a trembling sigh against her breast, suckling lazily after her brothers. “But I don’t know how I feel about putting the dead on her shoulders.”

Max swallows, his throat bobbing with effort as he slips down beside her. “Could name her Banshee,” he offers. “Screamed like one coming out.”

Furiosa chuffs at him. “She needs a strong name,” she insists. 

“Banshee’s strong,” Max says, but eventually he makes a sound in his throat at the look she gives him. He hums thoughtfully. “What about Rebel? Only girl; came out screechin’ for her life -”

“Rebel,” she coos, tentative as she nuzzles all three of her babies. “I like Rebel.” She shifts the boys in her arms, offers them to Max who reaches out in a panic before she can drop them. “What about these two guys?”

“Could call him Junior,” Valkyrie suggests, bright eyes flashing in amusement as they set the kettle to boil; Keep is mumbling something about herbs and teas for mothers, rummaging in her bag. “The littlest one looks like Max.”

Max tilts his head, peering down intently into his sons’ faces. Something old and rusting digs into his chest, carves a big, bleeding hole in the core of his being as he remembers the smell of disinfectant and clean white room and rustling sheets and beeping monitors. Of little blue caps and swaddles and little tags around impossibly little feet. 

Instead, there is sand and salt around them, and Many Mothers. 

“Hmm.” He shifts them in his arms easily, crooning in his low voice to them as the eldest boy kicks and fusses, and he slips his hand into the boy’s flexing grip. “Had a son. Before.” He licks his lips, darting glances at Furiosa. “Name was Sprog. Looked like - my wife.”

Furiosa says nothing; only burps their daughter with some effort. 

He stares into their sons’ faces again. “Carver’s a good name,” he mumbles. “Good. Strong.”

“Carver and Rebel, then,” Furiosa says, jerking her chin at the youngest. “And him? Junior?” Her eyes are warm now, weary and watery, but warm. 

Max flexes his hands around the babies a little helplessly. “Ah - dunno.” He passes Carver back to her, and rocks their nameless boy in his arms for a long moment, watching delicate lashes flutter and settle on skin much too soft and fragile for this world. “You pick,” he murmurs. “I picked two -”

“You made suggestions,” she tells him wryly. “If I didn’t like Carver and Rebel, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

He hums. “True. But still.”

Furiosa leans back into him, surrounded by the warmth and scent of him that seeps into the depths of her bones as she sags with exhaustion. She feels empty somehow, and yet - filled with a warmth. “I'll name him when I have the strength to think. For now he can be Pup."

"Pup is good," Max says. "Pup is fine." He curls around them all, nestles their dozing pups into the warmest blankets they've got. His chest pressed to her back, he leans down to kiss the faded brand on her neck, and wraps his arm around her gently. "Could be short for Pupkin."

"We're not naming our son Pupkin."

"It's a cute name."

"Carver, Rebel, and  _Pupkin_?"

"...he can be cute."

"Max, no."

"Mm. Next one is Pupkin, yeah?"

" _Next_ one??"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do not think that any of this makes sense. don't think about how they get out and survive, and sure as hell don't think about what's been happening throughout the span of time they've taken to escape and her giving birth


End file.
